New Journalism without quite the crushing egotism and boorishness of either Hunter S Thompson or Tom Wolfe, focusing around a piece describing, in human terms, the human wreckage around Haight-Ashbury in the Summer of Love. This, and other pieces, are often wonderfully written, mixing an air of despair with one of nonchalance and painting an America roiling and clashing with itself and in no way showing any kind of social decorum. Refreshing change from the over-eulogising efforts of others, but still reportage of and within the moment.